


Blood Moon

by maniacalchimera



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves, buckle up I don't know what I'm doing either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 22:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalchimera/pseuds/maniacalchimera
Summary: It's the full moon and Dilan Umoya has brought a werewolf into a vampire coven. He's definitely got things under control.





	Blood Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my piece for the C.A.K.E. Exchange, made for Ink (triceraclops.tumblr.com). I hope you enjoy it!

_“What—” _Even’s voice, sharp, harsh, almost nasally in its indignance, chips like cracking ice in the otherwise warm, pleasant room. “—are you _thinking?”_

Dilan looks up from his spot on the couch, taking a long sip of his tea. He sets the cup down slowly, not breaking eye contact with the man across the room, not removing his other hand from the large, tawny-colored dog sprawled across his lap. “Well,” he says, “you _have_ told me that I rarely do.”

Even storms forward, hands clenched into stiff fists that he keeps practically frozen at his sides. “Dilan,” he huffs. He frequently uses this tone. “Dilan,” he says again, with just as much frustration, “do you know what that is?” His hand finally moves, swinging out over their guest. The dog looks up, eyes bright and tail wagging at the motion.

“Of course I do.” Dilan lifts an eyebrow, runs his hand through rough and tangled fur. “That’s a very good boy.”

“That’s a _werewolf,_ Dilan!” Even is, remarkably enough, not wrong. The dog on Dilan’s lap is far too big to be any kind of domestic animal. His paws are larger than Dilan’s hands, mouth wide enough to swallow his head. His tail could honestly be a weapon in and of itself, thicker than a human arm and wagging with a force strong enough to bruise. And, even dimmed by the full moon’s light, his eyes hold an intelligence not quite like a normal dog’s, deep auburn with little flecks of color that catch the fire and make him look like something otherworldly.

But even without that, the fact that a hundred pound wolf is wandering around London should be a big enough tip that something is not quite natural with this creature.

Dilan runs a hand along the werewolf’s back instead. Not even a hundred, he thinks. He can feel his spine, bony and pressing at his skin down his back. There’s muscle there, but it’s lean, wasting beneath the scars that cross his fur. “Yes,” he says, “he’s a werewolf. What’s your point, Even?”

“What’s my—Dilan, you absolute idiot, you know what my point is!” Even threads his hands through his hair, and Dilan takes no small enjoyment in the fact that he’s the reason Even is messing up meticulous hours of styling work. “You can’t be bringing a werewolf onto coven property! It’s like, rule number one, of the Radiant Garden, Dilan!”

“No it’s not.” Dilan plays his fingers into one of the knots in the wolf’s fur. “Rule number one is no drinking blood in bed, I saw you lettering it last week.”

Even makes a sound that Dilan can roughly translate to a desire for murder. “Whatever rule it is,” he spits, “it’s up there, and he can’t be _here!_ Where, where the hell did you find him anyway?”

Dilan shrugs. “In the trash,” he says.

It does cut off the underlying murder sound, and Even brings his hands down from where they’re building a bird’s nest on his head. “In the trash.”

“Yeah.” Dilan brings his hand down lower this time, to run his fingers over the werewolf’s ribs. “He was in our trashcans. Knocked one over trying to get to the sausages you burnt this morning. Pretty desperate if he’s going for your cooking.” There’s lightness in the tone, but he meets Even’s eyes again and there’s no such levity in his gaze. “Werewolves should be bigger than this, shouldn’t they?”

“How should I know?” Even mutters, but he breaks eye contact which Dilan knows is a step towards victory.

“Because you’re the researcher, dumbass. I know you’ve read at least ten articles about werewolves in the past month alone. You’re a nerd.”

“I’m—I am not a nerd!” Redirection. Another step forward. “Shut up, Dilan! It doesn’t matter if this werewolf is…lacking, perhaps, in the nourishment a lycanthrope of his size should have at the time of the moon.” Even tucks his hair back, like he’s trying to look professional, like he’s avoiding the gazes of either of them. “He will certainly be fine when his human senses return to him in the morning.”

“But he’ll still be skinny,” Dilan says.

“A skinny werewolf is still a werewolf,” Even hisses, “and Lord Ansem will have the both of our heads if he finds out you’ve brought a werewolf into the coven, into his very _house,_ on the night of the full moon!”

Dilan lifts an eyebrow. “Lord Ansem shouldn’t be back from Liverpool for another two weeks, at least.”

“Th-that doesn’t matter!” Sputtering, a third step, and Dilan’s got this in the bag. “I am in charge here while he is gone, and I will be acting in his stead as second-in-command of this coven, and I will be doing as he would do in this situation and you cannot, _will _not, let this werewolf stay in our—in, our…what, what the hell is he doing, Dilan?”

Dilan tugs his gaze back to the werewolf, who has slowly shifted further along his lap and lifted his head towards the end table. He’s sniffing at the teacup, snout twice as big as its circumference, and after a moment’s hesitation, he begins to lick at it. “…ah,” Dilan says. “He’s sampling the tea I was brewing.”

Even’s nose scrunches upward slightly. “Why would… Dilan, did you put blood in that?”

“Ah, _shit,_ I did.” Dilan reaches and snatches the cup from the wolf’s grasp, lifting it up in the air. “No, no no, not for puppies.” The wolf clearly protests, digging his claws into Dilan’s knee as he stands up and drags his snout after it, trying to lap at the bottom. “No! It’s not good for you! Even?”

Even reaches and takes the teacup before the wolf knocks it from Dilan’s grasp. “What the hell are we supposed to do now, Dilan?” he huffs.

Dilan wraps an arm around the wolf’s neck to keep his furry friend from jumping after Even to get the tea. “Well, we feed him,” he says. “If you’re going to kick him out, I’m at least going to get some food into him so he doesn’t come knocking down our trash cans again.” He lifts an eyebrow, daring Even to argue. As soon as the other man opens his mouth, he adds, “And there’s already a chicken cooking.”

Even throws up his hands. “Fine, fine! He can stay for food, at least.” He turns towards the kitchen, sniffing at the teacup. “…what is this?”

“Irish breakfast with O positive,” Dilan says.

“Mm.” Even takes a sip. “Gone a little cold,” he says, “I think I’ll reheat the kettle.”

“The dog was drinking out of that, remember?”

_“Fuck.” _Even’s face scrunches tight enough to burst and he storms out to the kitchen without looking back at them.

“You’ve got werewolf cooties!” Dilan calls after him. “That’s an indirect kiss, isn’t it? You kissed a werewolf, gross!” He’s laughing and it’s riling their guest up. The wolf stands again, tail smacking against the couch, and practically bounces with excitement before barking and slurping a large, saliva-covered, doggie-breath tongue up Dilan’s cheek. It brings his laughter to a quick stop, and he looks at the wolf. “…thanks,” he mutters. “Glad I get werewolf kisses, too.”

He puts his hands on the wolf’s back and gently pushes him into a sitting position. “You’re too big to be standing on the couch,” he says. The wolf tips his head slightly, auburn eyes still so bright, and then lies down again, resting his head in Dilan’s lap. Dilan reaches and rubs between his ears. “I wonder how much you guys understand like this,” he sighs, brushing his fingers through fur that clearly needs a good washing. “If you just had the intelligence of a normal wolf, you probably would have bitten my fingers off by now, right? Clearly you’re smarter than that.” Or maybe dumber. This werewolf did come right up to a vampire hive and act like a puppy dog. Dilan frowns. The wolf is skinny, covered in dirt, skin laced with scars both old and new. He’s been through a lot, to be so trusting. “How do you know I’m here to help?” he mutters.

The wolf looks up at him, ears perking forward, and smacks his tail twice against the sofa. Dilan’s face relaxes, into something almost like a smile but maybe a little sadder. “Well, lucky for you,” he says, reaching and rubbing the wolf’s muzzle, “I am. We’ll get you some food and a nice place to sleep for the night, I promise. We’ve already got Even right where we want him.”

Well, mostly. The kitchen is, physically, not exactly where Dilan wants Even. He swears the man looks at the stove and things burn. But the wolf isn’t going to mind, not if he was going after crispy sausages in their trash can. Dilan scratches absentmindedly behind the wolf’s ear. “I wonder how long you’ve been around,” he mumbles, mostly to himself—it’s not like the wolf can answer him. “I don’t remember any news of wandering wolves last moon. Usually you guys take care to lock your doors or go to the pack house.” But he’s got a gross feeling churning in his gut that this wolf doesn’t have doors to stay behind. He knows the look of gnawing, constant hunger, of wear and tear from night after night without food or shelter.

He’s been there himself.

Dilan sighs and this time the wolf sighs too, a large huff of air. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “Everyone says London’s the best place to be a paranatural, but I think they’re just looking at the rich, white ones. The coven leaders like Lord Ansem, or Lauriam and his group of rose boys over in Hyde Park. The Lunar Diviner pack’s headed by some blue-blooded snob with his big inherited mansion. Of course the humans see them and think, wow, being paranatural must be all nobles and parties and shit. They don’t look at us.” Who’d spare a thought for a skinny werewolf slinking through the streets? For a poor black sailor, left alone in an alleyway with blood seeping from his neck?

A smelly wolf tongue makes contact with his face again and Dilan sputters. “Jesus—okay, okay, got it. No more depressing talk. You’re a fucking dog right now, why would you care anyway?” Alright, maybe that’s condescending, maybe that’s why the werewolves don’t like them, but this one just keeps smiling at him and wagging his tail and Dilan supposes he’s still in the clear.

He looks towards the kitchen—still in the clear with Even, too. Either he didn’t hear, or he’s pretending he didn’t, which is more than fine with Dilan. Rich, white, second-in-command of the Radiant Garden coven that he is, Even didn’t look away from him; and he’s not going to look away from this werewolf, either. “Maybe we should check on him,” he says to the wolf. “Make sure he’s not messing with your dinner. The chicken shouldn’t be much longer anyway.”

The wolf’s tail starts to wag, maybe from the word ‘dinner,’ maybe from ‘chicken.’ “C’mon,” Dilan says, starting to smile again, “go get Even. Go find Even, go on!” The tone of voice excites the wolf more, and he leaps from Dilan’s lap and knocks over the thankfully unlit candles on the coffee table on his way towards the kitchen door. Dilan stands up and replaces the candles, letting the werewolf run ahead of him.

Perhaps it’s not the best idea, because within seconds there’s shouting and then a clattering from the kitchen. _“Dilan!”_ comes Even’s screeching voice, and Dilan starts to laugh.

Yeah, he’s in a better mood already.

~~

It’s a damn good thing vampires don’t need to eat, because the entire chicken was in pieces before they could blink, as was the nice plate that Even set it on. Dilan was able to hold the werewolf back long enough that Even could pick up the broken porcelain and then they just let him eat, sipping at the newly brewed bloody tea for their own dinner. With a full meal in everyone’s stomachs, things settled down. Even took the loveseat, Dilan took the couch, and the werewolf resettled on Dilan’s lap. There was talking, arguing as always, but then the wolf began to snore and silence settled otherwise through the living room.

Dilan is the one to break it, finally, as he runs his hand over the werewolf’s bony back. “He’s staying the night,” he says, not looking up at Even.

Even finishes off his tea. “Yes,” he sighs, “I figured he was. Lord Ansem will have both of our heads, you know.”

“What Lord Ansem doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Dilan shrugs. “And honestly? I think he should applaud our humanitarian efforts. Think of all the damage we saved his trash cans.”

“Stop that.”

Dilan snorts. “You know that’s what he’d really be concerned about if he knew.” Lord Ansem is a good man, a wise and fitting leader for the largest coven in London. He’s also a very traditional vampire who seems to take pleasure in the perpetuation of centuries-old feuds. Dilan’s convinced a werewolf ate his research papers once and that’s the root of the problem.

Even sighs, pinching his nose between his fingers. “Unfortunately, I know. We can keep that from his knowledge as well. I don’t need more of our coven’s budget wasted on…something ridiculous, like chaining the bins to the fence.”

“Yeah, we need to save that money for fixing our gate.”

Even doesn’t move his hand even as he looks up at Dilan. “What do you mean.”

Dilan nods towards the wolf. “You think he undid the latch?”

“I assumed he jumped the fence.”

“You assumed wrong.”

Even groans with far less decorum than should be expected from a vampire of his status. “Goddammit,” he grumbles, “you’re intent on making this as difficult to hide from Ansem as possible, aren’t you?”

“Me,” Dilan asks, “or the wolf?”

“Both of you. I blame both of you for this situation.”

“Fair enough.” Dilan rubs behind the wolf’s ears again and it gets him a soft, contented huff. Their guest is well and truly asleep. Dilan watches him breath for another moment of silence. “…I wonder what he’ll be like tomorrow,” he says.

Even shrugs. “Hopefully he won’t awaken in a panic. As far as I am aware, we have a rather strong scent that werewolves can smell even in their human forms.”

Dilan lifts an eyebrow. The wolf did do a lot of sniffing when he first emerged from the trash, but Dilan assumed it was just a normal dog thing. “Really,” he says. “What do we smell like?”

“Blood.”

“Not sure why I asked.” Dilan rolls his eyes and goes back to absentmindedly running his fingers through the wolf’s fur. It’s such a nice color, like autumn leaves. He wonders what determines a werewolf’s fur color. Is it their hair? Is it based on the pigment of their skin? He’s sure Even knows, but it seems silly to ask him such a fleeting question.

Even reaches out, running his fingers along the rim of his empty teacup. “He’ll awaken tomorrow and instantly know he’s in a vampire den, I’m sure of it. You should set him up in the guest room, the one without the caskets. Make it look as normal and nonthreatening as possible. And leave out some clothes for him.”

“Clothes?” Dilan echoes.

“Do you think their clothes transform with them, Dilan?” Even looks over at him, nose scrunched slightly in an expression of resigned frustration. He really needs to learn that not everyone possesses his _infinite_ knowledge.

Dilan lifts a hand. “I don’t know werewolves,” he says. “I wasn’t putting that much thought into it.”

“And lucky you that I did, or we would have had both a confused _and_ naked werewolf roaming the house tomorrow morning.”

Dilan looks down at the sleeping wolf again. “…should I shove pants on him before I leave him for the night?”

Even lifts his hand slightly from the cup. “Dilan, that’s the most stupid idea I’ve heard from your mouth in all eight years I’ve known you.”

That’s impressive, given some of the pranks he’s conducted on other coven members. He feels like putting pants on a werewolf can’t possibly be as stupid as nailing Braig’s ponytail to his casket while he was sleeping, but he’s not going to argue with Even over it. “Fine, okay, let the wolf clothe himself,” he sighs. “Do you have a guess for what size clothes I should leave out?”

“Not particularly.” Even pulls his hand back to his lap. “Wolves are large animals and it’s hard to tell exactly what a werewolf’s human build will be simply by looking at their wolf form. Just leave out a few things. He’ll figure it out.” He sits for a moment, then pushes himself up to his feet. “I’m going to take a look at the gate,” he says, “so that I can get it fixed before one of those nosy humans thinks to mention it to Lord Ansem when he returns. Then I will probably retire to my study for the night. I was hoping to get some work done before you turned this evening upside down and I will not tolerate further distraction.” He picks up his cup and the mostly empty pot of tea and looks to the two of them. “Will you be able to handle the rest of this without me?” he asks.

“Actually,” Dilan says, “I was kinda hoping you’d help me bathe him.”

“Go fuck yourself, Dilan Umoya.”

Dilan laughs and waves him off. The werewolf doesn’t stir, not even a flick of his ears. Dilan waits until he hears the outside door close, then shifts himself carefully, watching for any indication he’s disturbing his lap-mate. “I should probably get you settled now,” he says. “You’re clearly out like a light and I’m not gonna sit around and wait for you to transform back on top of me.” He assumes it’ll be at the break of dawn, as the moon dips below the horizon. From what he’s heard, it’s not a pleasant process to undergo—he doesn’t think it’d be one to witness, either.

He maneuvers until he’s got his arms under the wolf and is able to lift him carefully up from his lap. “So skinny,” he mutters. Even with increased vampiric strength, he was expecting a bit more trouble. He stands and tucks the wolf against his chest. The guest room, the one without caskets. He’ll pick out a couple outfits and have them set along the desk, he’ll cover the wolf with blankets to keep him waking up cold on top of confused; and maybe he’ll be in the kitchen around dawn, cooking eggs and more sausage and anything else he can think of to combat the smell of blood.

It’s a good thing he’s nocturnal, he thinks as he makes his way up the stairs. He’s not sure he’d be able to get to sleep even if he needed it.

~~

The hours to dawn drag by very slowly. Dilan actually starts cooking before the sun comes over the skyline. It gives him something to do, something to think about besides the snoozing wolf up in their guest bed. He did go up and check, once, when he thought he heard motion, but all he found was the wolf still curled in a little ball under a pile of blankets, head on the pillow and snoring away. He’s forced himself to stay downstairs since. He’s always accused Even of hovering; he refuses to be a hypocrite.

The sun’s rays creep through the window and Dilan steps away from the stove to close the shutters before they make him ill. He can’t hear anything upstairs over the sizzling of the sausage in his pan, and he thinks perhaps that’s a good thing. He doesn’t want to see a werewolf in transformation—he assumes the werewolf would prefer it remain private as well. He returns to the stove and adds the sausage to a quickly growing plate.

Sausage, eggs, time goes on and he runs out of both of them. He’s filled three plates, which he thinks is reasonable even if Even doesn’t eat food as often as he does. Dilan flicks off the stove, moves away from the counter to toss the egg shells, and thinks he’s well and truly distracted himself and immediately it’s thrown out the window as he hears the stairs creak with footsteps. He almost misses the bin with his egg shells and shoves the bowl onto the nearest counter space, then makes it halfway across the kitchen before he stops himself.

Okay, _okay,_ he has to stay calm. This werewolf is waking up in an unfamiliar house that reeks of vampire. Despite the friendliness of last night, he has to consider the confusion, and the more human understanding that vampires and werewolves have a history of not getting along. Any sudden movements, and their guest could panic; and while Dilan thinks he can take a werewolf, he’s not sure he can do it without extensive damage, to both the house and himself and Even will despair over both and—

Dilan’s thoughts are wrenched from hypothetical battle plans by a very soft, hesitant voice through the doorway. “Um, excuse me?”

He looks up, automatically taking a step forward. The man in the living room is one whom Dilan thinks he’d pin for a werewolf even without the events of last night. He’s very tall, a good ten centimeters over Dilan, and broad as well. He’s wearing the largest set of clothes Dilan picked out and even those don’t really fit him, tight around his shoulders and not quite reaching places like his waist and ankles. His hair is the same tawny red of the wolf’s fur, and his skin, pale as the full moon, is dotted with freckles like unknown constellations. His eyes are the most perfect match from last night, the same warm auburn that sat in the wolf’s face, gleamed excitedly up at him. Dilan takes in a sharp breath. Oh _fuck._

The man speaks again. “Is this your home?” He has one arm behind his back, the other gripping it loosely, and despite his size he looks gentle, delicate even. Dilan swallows what feels like that collection of egg shells in his throat.

“Ah,” he starts, “somewhat? I live here.” Stupid, _stupid,_ he thinks, but it’s out there now! He keeps himself from shoving a hand over his face through sheer force of will.

The werewolf nods, glancing away. “I apologize,” he says. “I’m sure I caused…quite a bit of trouble for you last night. It was quite generous of you to let me stay.” His accent sounds almost musical and at first Dilan loses the words in the melodious sound. “If I may ask, where exactly am I?”

“London,” Dilan says; now he does cover his face with a groan. “I’m sure you knew that.”

“I did know that.” The werewolf rubs at his nose and it looks to be covering a smile. “But I appreciate knowing I didn’t try to cross the Thames and leave during the night.”

Dilan huffs out an embarrassed breath. Idiot, think before you speak. “You’re in Westminster right now,” he says. For a brief moment, he considers lying about the exact location; but he’s never been a great liar, and it’ll bite him in the ass, he’s positive. Best to be honest, and not come off as malicious. “You’re actually in the main house of the Radiant Garden coven,” he continues, running a hand through his hair.

The werewolf’s face loses some of the little color it has. “Oh,” he says softly, “I…I deeply apologize. I know, I’m sure Lord Ansem is a busy man and it was incredibly rude of me to interrupt coven business. I promise, I can make up for any, any damages that were caused, and—”

“He’s not here. He’s in Liverpool. It’s fine,” Dilan says.

“Oh thank god.” His shoulders visibly drop their tension, and he brings the hand up over his nose. “I mean, I—I’ll still assist in any damages, of course, but—”

Dilan hides any kind of laughter in his own hand. “I get it,” he says. “It’s okay, really. You didn’t do all that much. The gate’s broken but that’s not gonna take too much to fix. We’re planning to have it back to normal before Lord Ansem even starts packing to come back here. I don’t think it’s important he knows about your visit.”

The man looks up again, meeting Dilan’s eyes. “…you have my deepest gratitude. I can’t believe, of all the places my stupid wolf self decided to go, the largest coven in London…”

“Look,” Dilan says, “those burnt sausages Even threw out were _really_ tempting.”

“…no. Was I in your bins?”

“For a good minute or two there, yeah.” Dilan waves a hand. “I got out there before you ate anything too bad for you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I believe the damage to my dignity was already done,” he grumbles. Slowly, he drops his hand, then takes a few steps towards the doorway with it extended in front of him. “Let me…start again, if you wouldn’t mind. My name is Aeleus.”

_Aeleus,_ just as melodic as the brogue that falls between his lips. Dilan carefully keeps his face neutral and reaches to take the hand. It’s warm, but most everything is against his technically undead skin. “I’m Dilan,” he says. “And look, I get how it is when you’re hungry. I’ve been there.” And speaking of—Aeleus still looks too skinny for the size of his shoulders, a noticeable lack of fat beneath his cheeks. Maybe Dilan should just let it lie; but he’s not sure that, in good conscience, he can. “And hey,” he says, looking up to smile at Aeleus, “this time I have sausage that’s not burnt to a crisp.”

“Oh,” Aeleus says, dropping his hand and glancing away, towards the kitchen behind them, “I couldn’t possibly cause you more trouble…”

“Aeleus, it’s fine.” Dilan takes a step into the kitchen and motions him forward. “I made more than enough.”

Aeleus seems to hesitate a moment, but he does follow Dilan forward. “You’ve made…quite a bit here,” he says.

Dilan shrugs. “I’m sure the whole, werewolves eat for three men stereotype isn’t true, but I figured I wouldn’t take the chance.”

It gets a snort out of Aeleus, and the smile that breaks his face is absolutely worth how dumb Dilan thought that sounded. “We do get much hungrier after the full moon, so I appreciate it, Dilan.” He stops at the table. “…this may be an insensitive question,” he asks, “seeing as we’re in the coven building and all, but…are you, well, also…a vampire?”

Dilan grins wide enough to show off the sharp points of his fangs. “Yes,” he says. “I’m no weird human groupie, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aeleus says quickly. It seems to be one of his favorite words. “I don’t usually see vampires that are…not…”

“White?” Dilan offers.

“I was going to say pale,” he mumbles.

Dilan laughs, moving past Aeleus to grab two plates of food. He gets the feeling Aeleus isn’t going to help himself. “I’m not going to be offended, you know,” he says. “Especially not coming from an Irish werewolf.”

Aeleus’s cheeks redden, and he takes a seat as Dilan places the food in front of him. “I see we’ve both hit the lottery there,” he says.

“Viciously ripping out the backbone of polite British society, we are.” Dilan sets down his own plate and takes a seat. He’s a bit thirsty, but he shoves a sausage into his mouth and deals with it. Pulling out blood at the table seems a little bit rude to their guest.

Aeleus gives little more than a hum of agreement before taking the fork and digging into the food. He eats like a man who rarely sees food and it brings back the heavy feeling in Dilan’s gut. He chews his sausage, thinking. After he swallows, and after he sees Aeleus slowing ever so slightly, he says, “Where do you live, Aeleus?”

Aeleus sets down his fork. He swallows first, and Dilan can’t help but notice he isn’t meeting his gaze. “I’ve…been staying near the docks here,” he says.

“What’s your address?” It’s pushy, probably too pushy, but Dilan keeps looking at him, his own fork resting at his lips. “You know, so I could escort you back.”

“Oh, well, it’s…” His fingers rap against the edge of the table. “I don’t know the exact address, actually, I only recently came to the city, and—”

“Aeleus.” Dilan taps his fork against his lips and doesn’t speak again until Aeleus looks up at him and actually makes eye contact. “I get it. We just met. But I’m asking you to be honest, and I want you to know, up until eight years ago, I was exactly where I think you are. Tell me, do you have a place to stay?”

There’s silence, and Dilan can see Aeleus’s eyes flit back to the plate and consider eating instead of answering. “…it’s not a house,” he says quickly.

“Okay.” Dilan brings the fork down to rest against the plate. He has to think carefully about the direction he wants to take here. Aeleus is a soft-spoken man, clearly easily embarrassed and quick to blame himself. Dilan has to be delicate with whatever phrasing he uses. He can’t be too tough, too blunt. He can’t just say, “You’re staying here.”

“What?”

Mm. He has to get better about thinking out loud.

Dilan looks up and one of his fangs digs into his bottom lip. Might as well roll with it. “I mean,” he continues, “Lord Ansem isn’t going to be back for at least two weeks, so it’s not like he has any say in who uses our guest room. I’m sure the two of us can figure something out for you before he gets back. I’m not gonna let you go back out there without a roof over your head. It’s London and it’s going to be winter in a little over a month. So long as you don’t mind the vampire smell too much, you can stay here until we have somewhere nicer for you.”

Aeleus’s face almost matches his hair. “Dilan,” he says, “you don’t have to do that. You said it yourself, we only just met, and I’m a _werewolf._ I know that any welcome in a coven is temporary and reluctant.”

“Not every vampire is like Lord Ansem, you know.” Dilan reaches out across the table and puts a hand on Aeleus’s arm. “Look,” he says, voice dropping slightly, “we’ve got to stick together, yeah? We’ve just met, but I think I can tell from both today and last night that you’re someone more than worth helping. Life’s not fair out there and I want to make it a little fairer for you. Okay?”

Aeleus lifts his free hand and hides part of his face again. “I thought vampires weren’t supposed to have hearts,” he mutters.

“Common misconception. I think it just shrivels from disuse.” Dilan squeezes Aeleus’s arm and gives him his warmest smile. “So you’ll stay?”

“…it’d be rude to turn down such a generous offer.” Aeleus lifts his hand slightly and there’s a careful smile beneath it.

“Excellent.” Dilan sits back again. “Now we just need to tell Even.”

“Tell me what?”

The voice from the doorway has Dilan’s head snapping up, and he can feel quite a bit of warmth dash through his cheeks. “Good morning, Even,” he says. “This is Aeleus. He’s going to be staying for a week or two as my guest.”

Dilan can see the sour puckering to Even’s face—and he can see it melt away, as Even looks at Aeleus, sees him like Dilan knew he would. Even sighs. “A pleasure to meet you, Aeleus,” he says. “My name is Even. I apologize that I will not be better conversation, but I’m approaching thirty hours without sleep and I was planning on making tea and going to bed.”

“Hello, Even.” Aeleus is back to looking small despite himself. “I apologize for any inconveniences I caused you last night. Dilan insists it was nothing that bad, but I know how I can get on the night of the moon.”

_Adorably friendly? Just like now?_ Dilan wants to ask, but he keeps his mouth shut instead. Even looks between the two of them, then moves into the kitchen towards the tea kettle. “Believe me,” he says, “you are not the one that has to do any kind of apologizing.”

“I’m not talking to you about it until after you nap,” Dilan says. Even scoffs at him and fills the kettle with water. Dilan waits until it seems like he’s not paying attention, then reaches across the table to Aeleus again. “He’s fine,” he says, “just grumpy without rest.”

“Mm.” Aeleus glances to him, then back to Dilan. His face relaxes a little. “Thank you again, Dilan,” he says softly. “You’re a very kind person.”

“Yeah, well, see how you feel after a few days of me.” Dilan grins at him. “Sounds like Even isn’t hungry, so I bet he won’t mind if you take his plate as well.”

“That may be the best thing I’ve heard all morning.”

Dilan laughs and stands up to grab the plate. He passes Even and pats his shoulder as he does, getting himself a look that’s not nearly as frustrated as it’s trying to be. He’s actually pretty glad Even burnt those sausages yesterday.


End file.
